


Too Much Love Will Kill You (Or I Fucking Will) – Director's Cut

by PeachGO3



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Exes, Gay Marriage, Homophobia, M/M, Making Up, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 03:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: Gabriel is a douche, a cursing priest and still not over his ex-boyfriend Aziraphale. But when he finds out that no church is willing to marry off Aziraphale and his new partner, he starts to move Heaven and Hell for them.Extended version ofthis fic!





	Too Much Love Will Kill You (Or I Fucking Will) – Director's Cut

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Welcome to the extended version of this Good Omens Fic. The original version practically wrote itself, I didn’t even have to outline it and yet it had clear motivations, conflicts, stakes and turning points. In that regard, it’s the story I’m most proud of. I am a bisexual Christian, and to see so many people responding to this fic warmed my heart. Thank you for your sweet comments on it. They are always encouraging to read.
> 
> However, I felt like there were a lot of missing scenes and some things that could’ve been expanded on or changed even. So, here it is, the “definite” version. There will be more of the Ineffable Husbands, more jokes, new characters, but also more internalized self-hatred, so a quick heads-up for that.
> 
> If you already read the original version – thank you! I hope you’ll enjoy this one just as much ☆

Living in London did have certain perks, compared to the American Middle West. Food was a lot better (Gabriel would only miss T-Ravs, and he could make those by himself here anyway), he had proper health insurance, people were generally healthier (he would _still_ eat T-Ravs) – but most important of all: no one cared that he wasn’t heterosexual. Literally no one. Not that his deanery knew. But he was a gay priest and none of his colleagues batted an eye. Amazing. No one knew. Still. No one was interested. It was refreshing.

Sometimes Gabriel wondered whether his parishioners knew, or if they ought to know. But he strictly believed that his sexuality belonged to his private life, and he liked to keep it private. So he talked to no one about it. He had come to terms with himself in his twenties. Before that, his religious feelings had often clashed with his desires, but somewhere along the line he had figured – God didn’t care. Homosexuality wasn’t a sin that someone chose to commit (unlike, say, harassing poor altar boys). It was part of your being and thus part of God’s holy creation. By now, almost fifty, Gabriel was sure he was part of God’s Great Plan, as were all Children of God. He felt safe nowadays and did not have to fear getting beaten up. His teenage days had been horrible, but now, he was at peace, at absolute peace with himself.

Nice. His sexuality wasn’t a problem.

His past relationship with Aziraphale was.

Aziraphale and he had been dating for almost nineteen months. Secretly, needless to say. Aziraphale was a bookseller in Soho, a notorious nerve-wrack and an angel incarnate. He was a person that felt like a cozy, worn-out, old-fashioned sofa, welcoming and sweet. He was Gabriel’s whole world.

But he was gone.

Aziraphale had broken up with him years ago. He would often say that it wasn’t a real break-up because they never had a real relationship in the first place, but to Gabriel, it sure felt like one. He had really let himself go – ice cream, loud music, all of that – and fought himself back to a normal lifestyle. He told himself he was stable in that regard. Everyone thought of their ex once in while, after all. And so he thought about Aziraphale. A lot. He couldn’t help it.

The worst thing was that Gabriel still ran into Aziraphale from time to time. It wasn’t seldom enough to not care and not often enough to get used to it. He was never prepared for it. How were you supposed to get over someone when you still bumped into them ever so often?

The Almighty was obviously playing games with him. As She was today, when Gabriel was jogging in St James’s Park, and ran past Aziraphale, who just purchased ice cream from a vendor.

Careful to look casual, Gabriel went backwards and greeted his ex with a wave and a grin.

“Gabriel, hello,” Aziraphale said with a thin smile.

“What a surprise,” Gabriel said with his fists on his hips (what else was he supposed to do? Shake hands?). There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence as Aziraphale waited for his ice cream. He still wore tartan, but he had put on weight since Gabriel last saw him. Gabriel decided to comment on that: “You look good. A bit more tummy though.”

Aziraphale smiled an even thinner smile.

“Still like eating out? Sushi and such?” Gabriel continued.

“Yes.”

“Well, I, too, like eating out,” he went on, “just not sushi. But I do like eating out. Another type of eating out, y’know.”

Aziraphale sighed and even his eyes widened with annoyance. “What do you want?” he asked, restrained. Gabriel’s face softened with sadness. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said truthfully.

“Well, your conversation skills could use a little sharpening,” Aziraphale said and took his ice cream, one strawberry popsicle and one vanilla with a fucking flake (gosh, he was so cute). “Two at time?” Gabriel teased, but Aziraphale just went past him. He handed the popsicle to a man who was slouching on a nearby bench. Dressed all black, wearing ridiculous sunglasses on this cloudy day. And so fucking ginger that Gabriel was convinced the hair was mega-dyed and that even the hairstylist hated it.

What the fuck?

“Who’s that?” Gabriel asked with a smile so forced that his face hurt. The man greeted him with a lazy wave of his hand. Aziraphale straightened up. “This, Gabriel, is Anthony. Anthony, Gabriel.”

“Right,” Gabriel said and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” The handshake was rather flabby (lefthanded, because the popsicle was in his right hand). That guy was the definition of slack, he smelled terrible. He didn’t even smile. And he wore a ring on his left hand. So did Aziraphale.

Oh, hang on. No fucking way. No. Way.

“Ahh, so, err, you two,” Gabriel stammered, eloquently.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. He sat down beside that slacker and his eyes fluttered for a brief moment as he smiled sweetly. The slacker had less of a problem of rubbing their engagement in Gabriel’s face – he threw a possessive arm around Aziraphale and smiled so smugly that Gabriel could’ve killed him there and then.

“Well,” he said a bit too loud, “good for you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. He had waited for his new companion to answer, but that guy would just stare at Gabriel through his stupid shades and ostentatiously did nothing.

Gabriel sent a fervent prayer towards Heaven to calm down. He nodded and stepped back as the slacker licked his popsicle so lasciviously that even Aziraphale shifted in discomfort. “Well,” he said again, “nice talking to you. Especially to you, Anthony.”

The slacker grinned in acknowledgement.

Gabriel had to get away from here. He wasn’t jogging anymore. He was rage-running. Who the hell was that guy? Who does he think he is? His Aziraphale deserved an angel, not some priggish asshole. Gabriel could not possibly know, but he was sure that douche wore shades inside. Seemed like that kind of prick.

He wished he could run more angrily. Aziraphale would get married.

* * *

“Thank you, pater.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Williams, may God bless you,” Gabriel greeted back. Saying goodbye to every single one of his parishioners after the divine service was usually wholesome and boosted his self-esteem, but today he couldn’t care less. He still had to smile. And felt the statue of Mary judging him from behind for being so fake.

In his mind, he was already buying mental sushi. Aziraphale’s bookshop was one of those tiny, overly packed stores that had no opening hours restrictions and was thus opened on Sundays, too. ‘Keeping the sabbath day’ wasn’t like that, but oh well. At this stage of capitalism, who really cared anymore? He would visit his angel and bring him his stupid sushi. A new take-away restaurant had opened in Westminster, and Gabriel had heard their sushi was exquisite. He would never buy anything less than ‘exquisite’ for his angel, even if it was disgusting raw fish and soy sauce.

Gabriel dressed in his most dapper turtleneck (dove gray), his favorite shoes and that purple scarf Aziraphale used to like so much. He whistled a tune as he walked.

An engagement did not necessarily mean a wedding, he had realized over the course of days. Aziraphale did not _have_ to marry that idiot douchebag. He was a committed person, no doubt, but that other guy seemed anything like he was in for the long run. An engagement could be broken. It surely wasn’t something long-lasting.

Gabriel arrived at the shabby little bookshop in Soho, crowded as ever, with great excitement. Aziraphale would love this little snack. For a moment, he was distracted by the vintage Bentley that parked right in front of the shop. Nice. Not a scratch.

He pushed the door open with the familiar ring. And was greeted by the familiar chaos and the painfully familiar smell of old books and cocoa. “Hello,” he called with a grin, hoping he could smile his pain away. He did not mind the other customers. After a few seconds, Aziraphale’s blond head popped up from behind a shelf. Oh, he wore those tiny glasses again. “Hello, Gabriel,” he greeted with unease.

“Hiya,” Gabriel beamed and leaned in for a hug. Aziraphale hugged him back, half-heartedly so, but he hugged back. Good. “How you doing? Business going well?” Gabriel wanted to know.

“I can’t complain,” Aziraphale replied. By God, had he missed that English accent. Aziraphale pointed to the white paper bag in Gabriel’s hands. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s just a little something,” Gabriel smiled with failed understatement, “from a sushi joint nearby. Reminded me of you. I got you some of your faves – those big ones, with the sesame? And some salad ones, by the chef’s recommendation, they’re his own creation. And some more.” He handed Aziraphale the bag with joy and tried really hard to not look at the ring on his finger – gold with a gem. Crap.

“I also got you their card, so you can look them up. I heard they must be really good,” Gabriel continued.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said with nervously pursed lips – sweeter than sugar. “I’ll go upstairs to put them in the fridge.”

“You should eat them while they’re fresh,” Gabriel recommended helpfully, but Aziraphale just shifted strangely. “I’m eating out today, actually,” he said.

Gabriel’s face softened. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and Gabriel folded his hands in awkwardness, which wasn’t like him at all. “So, err, where you going?” he managed to say.

“Oh, I don’t think…” Aziraphale began, but Gabriel was faster: “Yes, I know, it’s none of my business. Sorry.” He put his hands back into his coat’s pockets and looked down, but it didn’t take long for Aziraphale to break. “The Ritz, actually,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Gabriel just said. Really? He didn’t want to know. They’ve always wanted to go there. Together, ideally. “That’s… great,” he said, agonized.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Anthony got us a table.”

“Of course,” Gabriel laughed. Of fucking course he did.

“Oh, good Lord, Gabriel, please,” Aziraphale whispered to not disturb the customers, “you’re being ridiculous. He did nothing to you.”

“You’re right. He didn’t even talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “He’s not very sociable, sorry.”

“Yeah, no,” Gabriel snarled, “I get it. He’s above it all, he’s better than everyone else.” He swallowed. “Better than me.”

“All right, please leave,” Aziraphale said and pointed to the door. “We are not having this conversation, Gabriel, please leave.”

“Yeah, have fun at the Ritz. Did he come right after me? Or were there any others?”

“Leave, please.”

“You won’t marry him, will you?” Gabriel asked with desperation, ignoring what he had just heard. “I will,” Aziraphale said loudly, “and he will marry me, and you can’t do anything about it.”

“I would’ve married you,” Gabriel uttered, voice all low and broken. “I would’ve given up priesthood just to be able to marry you.” He felt his eyes water. No, not now…

“Look, I am sorry, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said. “I really am. But you are not. And that’s why you’re going to leave. Now.”

Just then, someone descended the corkscrew stairs. It was Douchebag. Wearing shades. Gabriel bit back his tears in frustration. He looked amazing, alright. He got them a table at Ritz. Alright. At least he didn't look much younger than Gabriel did.

“Hey, angel. Is he bothering you?”

_Angel._

Yeah, that’s it. “Goodbye,” Gabriel said with burning eyes and stormed outside. He had trouble not screaming on the street. And he tried really hard to not turn back, but he did anyway, and through the window he saw how they hugged, how Douchebag pointed to the sushi and how they smiled their beautiful smiles. That Bentley was probably his, too.

Gabriel snapped. He yelled ‘fuck’ at the ground and twisted in agony.

Why his angel?

How had he never realized how he felt about Aziraphale? Sure, Gabriel had never really forgotten him, he had very strong feelings about him still, and about their shared past. Their quiet evenings, their wild nights, their trip to New York City, when Gabriel had bought him cotton candy in Central Park. Had Aziraphale not understood how difficult it was for him, as a catholic priest, to have a romantic relationship? With a man, for that matter? Had he not seen how careful Gabriel had to be around him? What kind of effort a sexual relationship meant for him?

Bullshit, he had seen all of that. Surely. Or had he?

Gabriel slapped himself in the face. All these years after the break-up, his feelings had just been… bottled-up. Their true nature had been unleashed only now, and that nature was vicious and unforgiving and ugly. Aziraphale obviously didn’t know what he was getting himself into – this wasn’t about the ninth commandment, this was about Gabriel rescuing his beloved from getting hurt.

That’s what he told himself. He cried into his pillow and prayed. Told God about his desperation. Prayers helped.

And what God showed him was the thing he wanted to see the least: Aziraphale and his new partner hugging in the bookshop and Aziraphale smiling. Gabriel remembered. How Aziraphale smiled with his eyes full of joy, his whole body full of bliss. How he never, ever, in their days together, had smiled at Gabriel like that. Or had he…?

He was happy now. But what could that guy give him that Gabriel couldn’t? Why couldn’t Gabriel make him happy like that? Didn’t he always do his best?

He crashed his bed against the wall in pure anger, almost overthrowing it. If Aziraphale can’t be happy with him, then maybe he shouldn’t be happy at all.

* * *

_Why did he ever stop using that ansaphone? Anthony groans. His phone rings with such stubborn tenacity that he decides to get up. Who calls someone on a Thursday night? Him, out of all people? It was two in the morning. Anthony stumbles to the corridor with burning eyes. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, he just answers and says, vaguely, “Wrowwley.”_

_There’s a sob at the other end. Anthony’s eyes widen in terror of realisation. “Oh, shit,” he curses and rubs his face. “Aziraphale? Is that you?”_

_“Anthony,” his friend on the other end weeps, “d-do you have time? Right now?”_

_“Yeah, sure,” Anthony utters, painfully awake. “Are you at home?”_

_“Hm-m,” Aziraphale hums. And then he sobs again. The sound breaks Anthony’s heart into thousands of pieces. “Aziraphale, what is it?” he asks in horror. “I’ll come to you, are you at home?”_

_“In the shop…”_

_“All right, don’t move, I’ll come to you, okay? Hey, okay?”_

_“Yes.”_

_And Anthony hangs up. Bloody hell, what has that guy gotten himself into now? Hopefully it wasn’t about Gabriel._

_Holy fuck, it was about Gabriel._

_“He just sent me away,” Aziraphale sniffs. Anthony has gotten him cookies from the petrol station and his friend is now chewing them with the saddest face Anthony has ever seen on him. He could’ve crushed that priest, all holier-than-thou. What an arsehole. But all anger has vanished from Anthony’s bones once Aziraphale has started to cry in his arms and all he could do was to caress that blond hair and sway and tell him everything will be all right._

_Now, they are walking St James’s Park, as they always do when they talk. Except this time it’s three in the morning and not a single person is to be seen. Just them and the stars._

_Anthony is not dressed properly (because he left in a bloody hurry) and shivers, but throwing an arm around Aziraphale will do. His friend sniffs. “You’re freezing, dear boy,” he murmurs and loosens his scarf, but Anthony points him to leave it. “You must end this thing,” he says. He’s told Aziraphale that many times, because the things Gabriel said and did to him were, kindly said, outrageous. That fucker was just so outlandishly full of himself. Dumb American._

_“He said… that I don’t love him anymore,” Aziraphale sniffs. He cuddles closer to Anthony. Warmth._

_“Do you want to know how many times he’s already said that to you? The ones I know of?” Anthony shifts to pull Aziraphale even closer as they slow down. “He’s so abusive,” he utters, “why do you still grapple with him? Why don’t you put an end to it already?”_

_But Aziraphale cannot answer anymore. He just turns and presses his face into Anthony’s chest, tugging at his clothes, sobbing. Dear God. Anthony could feel the warmth of his tears through the fabric of his shirt. He hisses and embraces the nervous wreck that his friend has turned into. “But I did put an end to it,” Aziraphale weeps. “I did it.”_

_“That’s good,” Anthony murmurs as his hands stroke Aziraphale’s back, and he means it. Oh, finally. Thank God. He did it on his own._

_“I told him it’s over,” Aziraphale cries. His voice is so bright in this dark and silent night. “I told him it’s over. And he… he said I never really… never really loved him.”_

_“He’s bullshitting you like he always does,” Anthony all but hisses. “He’s emotionally blackmailed you in the past, and he won’t stop now. You did the right thing.”_

_“But he’s a gay priest, Anthony, he needs support…”_

_Oh, really? “So what?” Anthony exclaims. He’s getting angry. “He may be in a bad place, but that’s his own decision. You owe him nothing.”_

_“But what if he’s right?” Aziraphale sniffs. “What if I cannot… I cannot ever…” He cries again, tugging harder at the shirt. Okay, wow. Bloody hell. Anthony guides him to a bench where they can sit down. He hugs him to calm down, cradles him and then he whispers into his ear, “Never let anyone tell you that. It’s not true. You are capable of love, of great love, and not only that” – he sucks in a breath, stomach turning – “you are worthy of love. Aziraphale.”_

_Aziraphale pulls away. His face is puffy, red and wet with tears. Anthony smiles and offers him a tissue, which he gladly takes. He can see his breath steadying. Good. Good, good, he’s calming down. “Thank you, my dear,” he says, quietly. “You always know the right things to say.” He smiles that little smile of his, the one that always makes Anthony’s heart skip a beat. And then he says, “You’re always there for me. I don’t know what to say.”_

_“No need to say anything,” Anthony assures him as casually as possible._

_“I woke you in the middle of the night, weeknight, I am so sorry…”_

_“Why certainly,” Anthony says and tries a grin. “You can take me for granted. Anytime.”_

_Aziraphale gives him a look, brows furrowing. “How could I ever take you for granted?” he whispers._

_It just sort of happens. He wants to take the burden from Aziraphale, the sorrow, the self-hatred, just everything. He wants to comfort him. He wants him to know he is loved. And right now, he is so close, so warm and soft, all cuddled up right beside him, looking at him with those grey eyes that he adores so much –_

_It just happens. Anthony leans in and closes his eyes. He hears Aziraphale gasp right before their lips meet, but he luckily doesn’t pull away, no. He kisses back. Not only does he let himself be held by Anthony like this, leans even more against his body. Grabs the weary arm that is steadying them. He hums. Is this a clever thing to do? In the middle of the night, right after a break-up?_

_Aziraphale pulls him even closer. And Anthony feels tears on his cheeks and tastes their salt on his lips, only this time they’re his own._

_It’s cold out here. But the touch is good. It’s warm._

* * *

He loved that slacker guy. He truly did, with all of his precious, little heart. “He’s his fiancé,” Gabriel said out loud to convince himself. “His fiancé.”

He had to accept this fact and move on with his life, yes, Gabriel knew that. But he couldn’t. He just wanted to cry.

Despite his appointments for pastoral counseling tomorrow, he got up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. It burnt his throat and tasted as miserable as he felt. It rained outside. A second glass wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Gabriel sighed. He could not leave things like this, he had risen in his voice in Aziraphale’s shop after all. He needed every costumer he could get.

He rubbed his face. He had to apologize.

The next day, he telephoned the bookshop (probably better to not show up there anytime soon). It wasn’t Aziraphale who picked up the phone, but Douchebag: “Fell’s Bookshop.” Gabriel sucked in a breath before speaking. He stared at himself in the mirroring glass, in his black cassock, and silently greeted two nurses that passed him by. “Hey, err, Anthony. It’s me, Gabriel,” he managed to say, teeth grinding.

“Ha. How can I help you, pater?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to Aziraphale. Please.”

“Unavailable.”

Of course. “Please,” Gabriel said, rubbing his temple. “Would you please tell him I called?”

“So he can call you back?” A pause. “Naah.”

Gabriel could’ve destroyed the wall behind him with his bare fists. “What’s your problem? I just want to apologize,” he blurted out.

“On the phone?” Anthony’s voice was high-pitched with anger. “On the bloody phone? Even though you ruined his life for a solid year and a half? How about _that_ problem, ey?”

Gabriel felt his eyes flutter. “I’m sorry for how I behaved yesterday. Listen, I-”

“No, _you_ listen. You have been an absolute monster. He told me everything.”

“It’s… probably perfectly right for him to do that,” Gabriel said with closed eyes. He had to remain calm. But memories flashed in front of him.

“Damn right. He cried on my bloody shoulder.” Anthony’s voice morphed into a dangerous hiss as he added, “You’re damn lucky you’re not in my arm’s reach right now, arsehole.”

Gabriel leaned back against to wall to breathe. Stay calm. Should he just hang up?

Anthony seemed content with himself. “Anything left to say?” he asked. No. Gabriel had nothing to say, he realized that now. He often talked to Aziraphale. But never, ever in his life did he have something to say to him. He sighed, saying, “Please tell him I’m sorry. I understand if he doesn’t want to talk to me right now.” He looked at his reflection. “He doesn’t have to forgive me. Just tell him that I’m sorry, he needs to know that. Please.”

There was a pause before Anthony said, “Will do.”

“’kay.” Gabriel nodded to himself. “If there’s anything I can do for you… y’know.”

Anthony hummed. “Yeah.”

And he hung up. Gabriel closed his eyes, mouth opening and closing in frustration, but a nurse’s voice brought him back to reality rather quickly: “Excuse me, pater, but telephoning inside is forbidden.” Gabriel looked into her worn-out face and nodded. He got outside and took a cab to his next appointment.

Love thy neighbor, yeah. How could he ever possibly love that man? How could Aziraphale ever love him?

* * *

Preparing for a mass had never been more demanding. Gabriel’s kyrie eleison was way more intense than usual, even though he did not intent to sound so broken when he said it. His preachment was even worse, because he was close to choking up every time he looked at the angel statues in the nave. Fucking drama queen, calm down. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunken so much last night.

“It’s important,” he said from the pulpit, “that we ask God for forgiveness, because only the Almighty can forgive our sins. But never forget,” he continued, “that we must also ask our neighbor for forgiveness. And if we want to live the gospel in Christ, then we have to be able to forgive as well. Don’t hold any grudges against your neighbor. It is not your position to judge. Forgive them and love them.” The only true rule there is.

“Amen,” he says.

Once the divine service had ended and Gabriel had said goodbye to the parishioners with many, many handshakes, he noticed a man standing by the statue of the Virgin Mary. Had he been here the whole time? He wore a fashionable black hat and things that looked like snakeskin shoes. Gabriel stepped closer.

“She likes those flowers, doesn’t she,” Anthony mused.

“The lilies you mean?” Gabriel asked and stood beside him. Anthony hummed. He had taken off his shades, but not his hat. Seemed to be the equivalent. “I liked the little speech you gave,” he murmured.

“Thank you.”

He sighed and avoided looking at Gabriel. “You know, I always thought I was… you know, unforgivable.” He gives the last word a weird emphasis.

“No one is,” Gabriel assured him. “In front of God, at least.” He brought himself to smile. “I’m surprised to meet you here. Didn’t think you were one for churches.”

“I’m not,” Anthony said, suddenly defensively smug again, but before he put the sunglasses back onto his face, Gabriel caught a glimpse at his eyes – beautiful amber, golden even, and sparkling with wit. Curious.

“Nice dress-up,” Anthony commented.

“I was going to say the same to you,” Gabriel smiled, “but now I’m not.”

“Fine with me. Nice confessional box over there, too.”

Gabriel followed his pointing finger. With his everlasting slouch, Anthony looked like a misplaced rock star. “Do you want to confess?” he asked him by force of habit, but in a genuine voice.

“Tse, me? Hell no, we’d spend the whole day in there. I just think it looks sexy,” Anthony laughed nervously. Gabriel faltered. “What I said is true,” he murmured, “you’re far from unforgivable. I really mean that.” He side-eyed the white lilies. “God always forgives. However, you two are not obliged to do so. Regarding me, I mean. I fully understand if he doesn’t want to see me again.” The truth hurts.

“Yeah… about that,” Anthony began and fumbled with his ring. Gabriel turned in surprise. “You see,” Anthony said and walked around a bit, “Aziraphale would really, really like to have a church wedding.”

“Does he?” Gabriel asked and followed him.

“Yep. Kind of important to him. Religion. He’s romantic like that. Still goes to church from time to time. You know.”

Gabriel smiled, but it hurt to no end. “I do know that,” he said. He knew where this was going, and he was sad already.

“Money’s not an issue,” Anthony continued, “and neither am I, I’m totally fine with it. The problem is…” He made a disgusted sounding noise and made a vague gesture. Gabriel almost laughed out of bitter grievance. And Anthony sighed in agreement. “Not a single church in the area. Neither the Church of England, nor the Catholics want to marry off two men. Which shouldn’t surprise anyone, really, I told him it would be like that.

“Anthony,” Gabriel said with emphasis, “just so you know – those are humans speaking, not God.” This was very important to say, he thought. He felt his chest heat up with anger and humiliation. So, his angel wasn’t allowed to marry in any church, huh. Gabriel knew that, too, of course no one would marry off two men. He knew. Aziraphale knew, too. And still…

“God,” Anthony repeated thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway, I thought, hey, his ex is a priest (‘Shh,’ made Gabriel and looked around in panic), maybe he knows what to do. I didn’t really think you would, but he insisted on me coming here.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath. Aziraphale did? Why didn’t he come here himself then? “Is he still angry with me?” Gabriel asked, trying to keep his voice firm. Why did he ask? He didn’t even want to know.

“He’s not,” Anthony said casually. “He has to keep the shop opened, you know. That’s why I came alone to ask if you know what we could do. It was his idea of you helping us out ‘if we need anything’.”

“I see,” Gabriel sighed, but he sighed in relief, because this meant that Anthony had actually spoken to Aziraphale about his phone call. Then he looked up, and he would’ve looked into Anthony’s eyes if it wasn’t for those shades, and did not think, and said, “You can marry in this church.”

Anthony frowned as if to find out whether Gabriel was joking or not. “What? Why do you say that? No offense, but several priests we asked before said the same thing. And in the end, nothing happened,” he said.

“Not this time,” Gabriel assured him, and all of a sudden, he realized what he had said. And he meant every word of it, and laughed, “I’ll take care of it. Catholic church and two thousand years of doctrine, ha, how hard can it be?”

Anthony nodded. He slightly turned away. “If you say so. We’re going for June.”

“’kay, nice to know,” Gabriel said. There was pause as Anthony eyed the holy water next to the door, and then Gabriel said, just to get it off his chest, “He looks happy when he’s with you. It’s been a very long time since I’ve last seen him smile like that.”

“I can only speak for myself,” Anthony said with failed nonchalance, “but he certainly makes me very happy. He’s pretty much perfect. I never could’ve asked for nothing more.”

“Perfect, yes,” Gabriel repeated.

“Say,” Anthony continued, “have you ever shagged in that confessional box?”

Gabriel’s head cracked. “Get the fuck out of this church.”

* * *

So, next up – Gabriel met with his ex-boyfriend and his new fiancé. For a coffee. Well, he took a coffee, Aziraphale went with cocoa, and Anthony drank tea. But even before ordering their drinks, there was unnecessary drama: “Ohh, wait a minute, no way,” Anthony said, “there’s no way you guys are sitting next to each other. Come on.” He shifted, but Aziraphale stilled him with a strict gesture. “No, dear, we’re fine,” he said with pursed lips. Gabriel put his hands on his legs and sat still, looking at the tabletop. Aziraphale now did the same. The space between them wasn’t that big, but big enough to feel like shifting closer – neither of them did, of course.

But, after a while, Aziraphale said, “Good thing to have you here.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel answered thinly.

Until the waitress brought their drinks, there was silence. Now, Gabriel cleared his throat and was the first to speak: “I’m very happy that you decided to get married in a church. To make that bond in the presence of God is the capstone of every romantic relationship.”

“Stop with that priest speak,” Anthony begged, but Aziraphale was quick to silence him again. “Gabriel is right. It’s a wonderful thing to do and I don’t want to miss it,” he said.

Anthony rowed back. “Sorry. I’m being too cynical about this.”

“You sure are,” Gabriel smiled forcefully. What a prick.

“No one’s asked you,” Anthony hissed back (and that hiss was uncomfortable as fuck, urgh).

“Anyway,” Aziraphale intervened as Gabriel drank far too much of his coffee, “it’s very kind of you to offer your help in the matter.”

Gabriel nodded in friendly acknowledgement. The atmosphere was too tense for him to speak.

“There’s a lot at stake for you after all. However,” Aziraphale continued, “we also understand if things won’t work out. So… I don’t know, don’t overdo, I guess.”

“We will see how things work out,” Gabriel said in a diplomatic voice. He would do this for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale alone. He flatted an imaginary tablecloth and began, “Last night I went through the catechism again, and it truly says that marriage is between a man and a woman, becoming one, baring offspring et cetera.”

Bummed silence.

“But,” Gabriel continued in cheerful spirits, “if we take a look at the Fidei Depositum by Pope John Paul II…” – he whipped out his phone to read – “…is says here, ‘The catechism is meant to encourage and assist in the writing of new local catechisms, which must take into account various situations and cultures, while carefully preserving the unity of faith and fidelity to Catholic doctrine’.” He smiled at Aziraphale.

“So?” Anthony went. “That’s basically nothing.”

“It’s a weak argument, I agree,” Gabriel said, “because it’s human-made. And because we can’t change the local catechism. The Bible however, meaning, God’s Word, says nothing against same-sex marriage.”

“You checked that, too?” Aziraphale asked, and Gabriel paused before he replied, “Didn’t have to check again. Checked long before. Have checked it a long time ago.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly and looked down.

“So,” Gabriel continued, but Anthony spoke over him: “Wait, wait, wait. The Bible says nothing against marriage, but against homosexuality as it is, doesn’t it? Everyone knows that.”

Gabriel blinked. “No. When the Bible says ‘men shall not lie with men as they do with women’ – that only means men should not rape other men.”

Uncomfortable silence. “Women in biblical times weren’t exactly lucky,” Gabriel said with a forced smile, and Anthony did not ask again. “So, and considering above all that Jesus Christ said to love and respect thy neighbor, I absolutely don’t think this is a problem of faith. It’s not anymore, for me at least. It’s a problem of human-made constructs and dogmatic exegesis.”

“It’s so considerate of you to say that,” Aziraphale murmured. “But I don’t think you’ve got anyone on your side with this, Gabriel.”

“There’re plenty of Christian organizations that support queer folks,” Gabriel said casually, always careful to not let himself be affected to much by this.

“I know. Some of the priests we’ve talked to said they would theoretically give us their blessing, but no one even talked about a wedding service,” Aziraphale sighed. “’It’s different’ they said. We’ve considered a sole blessing, but they don’t do that in churches. Just in private. Even our good friend Brother Francis said he couldn’t do anything more for us. It’s a fight against windmills.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “Bullshit. You will get your wedding. With guests, with the church register, with flowers and fucking wedding pigeons. In my church.”

“I love pigeons,” Aziraphale smiled. Anthony said nothing.

“I will talk to my deanery, I will get it figured out,” Gabriel said.

“You’re aware that that would be the world’s first same-sex marriage in a Catholic church, right?” Anthony reminded him helpfully.

“I am aware of that, yes. Otherwise it wouldn’t be as fun, would it?” Gabriel beamed. “Worth a try. Let’s kick those fuckers in their sorry asses.”

Aziraphale wanted to agree, but he just smiled thinly and said, “You know, for a priest, you’re cursing a whole lot, dear boy.”

“I like it,” Anthony grinned and gave Gabriel an approving look through his shades. “We should be loud,” Gabriel called, “because we all know that the best way to end church disputes is with _canons_.”

Both looked down.

“It’s a pun,” Gabriel smiled.

“Stop it,” Aziraphale whispered in pain. “The Almighty may forgive me,” Gabriel said and got up. “So, June, right? How many guests do you plan on inviting?” The betrothed looked at each other briefly. “Nearly ten. Not more, actually,” Aziraphale said.

“Ten max? Well, there will be more if people find out that’s the world’s first Catholic same-sex marriage, hm?” Gabriel sang and took his coat. “I’m leaving some pounds for the coffee,” he added quickly.

“Oh, no, that’s my treat,” Anthony said.

Oh. “Thanks,” Gabriel said, unable to hide his astonishment.

“You sound surprised,” Anthony teased.

“Well, he hasn’t gotten to know you yet, my dearest,” Aziraphale said and took his hand. He smiled so tenderly… He was so cute.

Gabriel left. He was in battle-mode now. He’s a lean, mean fighting-machine. Time to kick some ass.

* * *

The ass kicking would be delayed. Gabriel had to wait two weeks before having a conversation with the dean, because there were, apparently, more important things to deal with – stopping the harassment of altar boys wasn’t on that list, naturally.

Two weeks were bitter. They were hard, because they gave Gabriel more time to think than he needed. Was this ‘a fight against windmills’? It was a challenge, no doubt, but when has that ever stopped him?

Gabriel contacted Brother Francis and asked what exactly he had told Aziraphale and Anthony. The old abbot worked in the countryside near Oxford and was a kind man (with an even kinder sounding accent), but his Abbey and area were not particularly fond of queer issues. Even if he would manage to get them married in secret, there would be problems he wasn’t ready to deal with. Just last year, Brother Francis told him on the phone, a local man came out as transgender and was chased out of his parish soon after. “She… he, I mean, good grief, had frequented this parish for over thirty years. Imagine that! And now he’s gone, living somewhere in France, I believe. I have not heard of him again. Poor boy,” Brother Francis sighed. Gabriel massaged his temples and nodded.

“Okay,” he said after a while. “But that’s rural areas, right? London would be different.” His church’s staff were all fine with it after all. Granted, the organist had been a bit of work, but after a while, he said he would be in. Everything was fine.

“I would not put your shirt on it, son,” Brother Francis sighed sadly. “This is such a tragic situation. I have known young Aziraphale for a very long time now, ever since he was a tiny baby boy. I don’t know why he’s pressuring himself with all of this. I’m not sure he could take this much hatred.”

Gabriel nodded. Who could?

He felt himself to be at a low-point. Discussing and confronting himself with queer problems to this extent was exhausting and draining. He figured that whenever he felt this depressed, he should make use of his old friend Beez instead of alcohol. So, one day before his appointment with the dean, Gabriel sat down in a café and built up his laptop in a lonely corner. Beez soon picked up.

“Hey,” Gabriel greeted and lowered his coffee cup.

Beez waved at him from the lagging screen. Their mouth spoke without sound.

“I can’t hear you,” Gabriel said, smile fading from his face as their head came closer to the camera, inspecting the computer. They pointed at something, and the video screen went black. Gabriel heard wii music play inside his head.

Another few minutes passed before they could finally talk to each other. Beez was really intrigued with Gabriel’s plans and had next to no chill, as usual. “I think it’s great, but it’s difficult, so don’t get your hopes up high,” they warned him.

“I’m not,” Gabriel assured.

“I’d say it’s next to impossible, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, Gabe.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“But why does he want to get married in a church anyway?” they asked as they stuffed their face with ice cream from a bucket. “He knows it’s difficult. If you ask me, he’s kind of exploiting your remorse.”

“He’s not,” Gabriel replied instantly, “he’s far too compassionate for such a thing. And, well” – he shrugged – “religion can be complicated. Why do people starve themselves to death? Or stay virgins for their whole lives? Commitment is essential to religion. And Aziraphale is the single most committed person I know.”

“You haven’t seen me go shiny-hunting in Pokémon Go then,” Beez joked. “Anyway,” they continued a bit too sarcastically, “I’m sure you’re giving your everything. It’s the right thing.”

Gabriel leaned back. “Is it?” he asked. He tugged at his shirt’s sleeve for distraction. “Of course it is,” they said and mumbled about how the world would never change if people like him wouldn’t make a start and so on and so on.

Somewhen, Gabriel clapped his hands. “Anyway, let’s talk something more fun. How’s the job going?” he asked a bit too loudly.

“Terrible, actually,” Beez said and continued eating their cheese crackers, prompting Gabriel to politely wait for elaboration. “I’m drowning in paperwork and had to sack two guys last month. They didn’t give me shit for it though. They would regret it,” Beez nodded, mouth full. “But they’re playing Wicked in town again! You must come visit,” they called. And how Gabriel wished he could. If he could, he would hop over there every weekend to go see musicals and talk shit. Beez had terrible temper, but life for a nonbinary person was easier in Berlin than it was in London. But they didn’t want to talk about that.

“Maybe we can see each other again sometime soon,” Gabriel said, knowing that it probably won’t happen.

“I hope we can,” Beez said in the same tone.

“Okay,” Gabriel nodded. Beez smiled at him through their kind blue eyes, computer screen lagging only a little. “Gabe, you can always call me, you hear me? Don’t do anything stupid,” they warned.

“I won’t,” he sighed with a weary smile.

“I mean it, dumbass,” they teased. Gabriel remembered how much he had missed them. Beez always knew how to cheer him up. They brought _happiness_ to his life whenever they were around. Usually. Brooding, he remembered their eleven a.m. champagne brunches and the unholy laughs they had. Now he couldn’t have that happiness, because he was too busy thinking about assholes beating up transgender kids and people suppressing their desires to fit into a culture that hates them.

Not even Beez could cheer him up. Wow, that’s how bad it was.

They chatted a little longer, Gabriel ordered a few more coffees, and then he was so antsy and energized that he decided he could just as well go for a run. And while he went, he could think of what to wear the next day to look more confident, professional and competent.

* * *

“I have no idea what came over you, pater,” Sandalphon said, smiling, with his terribly white teeth. “What do your deacons say about it?”

“They agree it’s a lovely idea,” Gabriel said truthfully. He raised them good. The deanery, however, was agonizing as usual. Sandalphon gnashed his teeth. “More importantly, what does God say about it, hm, Gabriel?”

“I prayed a lot the last days. And She thinks it’s a lovely idea as well. Always happy about people testifying their faith and love in the front of Her,” Gabriel said, well aware that Dean Sandalphon very much isn’t fond of him using female pronouns. The dean’s face hardened further. “You are a pain in the nose,” he said. “I am disappointed.”

“I’m glad to be a pain in the nose. Stagnation is not our mission,” Gabriel smiled, but in truth he was terribly annoyed by both Sandalphon and his stupid clock ticking above his desk. “We have to keep moving forward, otherwise how will we continue existing? How many young people do you see going to church anymore?”

“People can choose to follow God and they can choose to abandon him,” Sandalphon said complacently. “It is what it is.”

“Well, maybe it is because we treat them like shit,” Gabriel said. He smiled aggressively. “Women, young people, the LGBT community. They don’t feel welcomed here.” (Which is an understatement, really.)

“Keep your identity politics out of this, Gabriel,” Sandalphon spat. “God welcomes everyone.”

“She does,” Gabriel said, “but you don’t, apparently.”

“Marriage is between a man and woman,” Sandalphon said with finality. “It’s Nature’s Law, and thus God’s Law, and no supreme court can change that. Marriage is a fruitful union and symbolises God’s bond with humanity, that’s why there’s two sexes. The gays can happily live together, I don’t even care, but we mustn’t treat their unions as marriages. Over and out.”

Gabriel nodded and was almost tempted to flip the table in front of him. It’s the same bullshit all over again. Sandalphon leaned back, content with his little monologue, and in turn, Gabriel leaned forward to say, “And that’s why no one likes you.”

“This conversation is over,” Sandalphon smiled, “and because I’m such a kind person you won’t face any consequences for your behaviour. The bishopric will learn about it, of course. Just a reprimand.”

No, not Bishop Michaela. Gabriel wasn’t ready to give up, but he was running out of things to say, because this douche was rendering him quite speechless. The past two weeks were about to go to shit. He was tired. Should he go for…? “People like you,” Gabriel said with an astonishingly firm voice, “are the reason we live in self-hatred and bigotry.”

Sandalphon slowly raised his eyebrows.

Oh. No. No, no, no. He regretted it immediately.

“I see. So that’s where you’re coming from,” Sandalphon said in the most disgusting voice Gabriel had ever heard. “There’s conversion therapy for those things, you know,” he said, smiling. Gabriel shuddered. He got up and rushed out without saying goodbye. Tunnel vision. And his stomach hurt. Shit, shit, shit. This was bad, very bad. But the bishop would understand, wouldn’t she? She was a woman herself. She would understand and sympathize with a gay man.

Gay. He still could not think of that word without swallowing. He wasn’t over it, was he? He was still not over it. All those years, he had lied to himself. He still wasn’t at peace.

Before he could speak a fervent prayer, Gabriel bumped into a young woman outside the building. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, mechanical.

“I’m alright,” she said. She was wearing a bright red jacket, how could he not have seen her? Tunnel vision, probably.

“Excuse me, sir,” she began, and Gabriel listened. “Are you the Westminster parish’s priest?”

“I am,” Gabriel answered and offered his hand. He wasn’t crying, so that was good. And a convo was nice distraction from the contractions in his stomach. She shook his hand rather firmly. “My name is Pepper, I’m a feminist journalist. Not to sound weird, but I listened to your conversation back at Café du Ciel yesterday and have now followed you here,” she proclaimed.

“Nope, not weird at all,” Gabriel said and flashed his brightest smile. She did not seem too impressed. Had she been stalking him for the past hours? If she had been eavesdropping, who else could’ve heard him? “I’m eager to learn more about your undertaking,” she said in a business voice. “Is it true that you want to marry off a queer couple in your church, here in London?” she asked.

Gabriel paused. “Please don’t write about it. I mean, your job’s valid and important, no question, but I don’t want any media attention, and neither does the couple, I’m sure.”

“Media attention would certainly help you in this fight,” Pepper said unimpressed, “and positive actions like these are empowering for the community. It’s revolutionary.”

“Yes, I know,” Gabriel smiled, trying to think of something. Aziraphale would kill him if there were any journalists or paparazzi at his wedding. Or his face in the newspaper. Gabriel wouldn’t mind. He would cut and frame it.

“Sir,” Pepper said.

“Yes. Errm, I will talk about it with my friends. Do you have a card or so?”

“I’m on Twitter,” she said drily. Gabriel nodded. “Okay. Fine. I’ll find you. We’ll stay in touch.”

“Looking forward,” she sang without smiling and turned on her heels to disappear. Funny, huh. Like bumping into a feminist angel.

Just as he thought that, Gabriel’s phone vibrated. ‘Unknown’ had sent a message. Gabriel’s head spun. He had to sit down. There was a bench, okay. He breathed.

_‘it’s anthony crowley. haven’t heard from you in a while. you ok?’_

Oh. What?

“Fuck,” Gabriel sighed. He rubbed his face. This must be a faith experience, no doubt. Holy Mother of Jesus. What now? Should he call him? He should call him. One beep. Two. Three…

“Hello? Pater?”

He sucked in a breath. “Hi, Anthony.” A pause followed. Gabriel could hear business background noise. “Sorry. Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

Another pause. “You’re not,” Anthony said. “Are you all right? You sound tired.”

Gabriel’s eyes watered. Tired, yeah, you could call it that. He rubbed his face again. Don’t cry, don’t cry. “Anthony, I… I…”

And then he broke. He sobbed. His tears flowed freely, and he tried to shield his face with his hand. He was still in public, somewhere in London, England, but he felt like a fifteen-year-old in Missouri all over again. His stomach hurt, his chest ached with a stinging pain. He burnt. And the worst thing was, only now did he realize that all the things people had charged him with – those were the exact same things he had spat into poor Aziraphale’s face in their last weeks together. All those things about unworthy love and other feelings. Horrible, terrible things.

Then there was Anthony’s voice: “Gabriel, what is it? Talk to me.”

And he did. He talked. They talked for almost an hour. And unsurprisingly, it was good to talk to someone. Pastoral counselling was important, sure, but apparently _he_ needed someone to unburden his heart to as well. About religious upbringing, about suppressed feelings towards other boys in class. About how similar his and Anthony’s lives had been up to a certain point. About Aziraphale and how open he was towards these feelings.

“I thought I met an angel on Earth,” Gabriel remembered. “With his quirks and his fancy accent and his little tummy, even though I tried to make him lose some weight.”

“His tummy is amazing, isn’t it,” Anthony said on the other end, and Gabriel could hear his smile. He chuckled. “I agree. Very soft,” he mumbled.

“Incredibly soft,” said Anthony. He paused for a moment. “He’s an angel. And sometimes I wonder whether I even deserve him.”

“Don’t say that,” Gabriel heard himself say. “Angels come in all shapes and colors. They are heaven-sent. They come to us when we’re in need of them. And sometimes when we’re least expecting them.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “He came to you, too, Gabriel.”

Gabriel blinked. “Yeah, well. Homosexual priest in secrecy, and a total douche. Heavy drinker. I understand he didn’t want that. Hell, I wouldn’t want that. God, I was such a dick.”

Anthony paused for a while. He said, “Remember what you told me about forgiveness. How about you forgive yourself once in a while, hm?”

Gabriel laughed. “What a concept.”

“Consider it. Helped me a lot.”

“I will.”

* * *

Aziraphale was the first to speak again. “Thank you for your effort,” he said.

Gabriel sighed. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You’ve done enough. You don’t condemn us, for a start.” He smiled wearily. Raindrops hit the bookshop’s window. Would only be a short shower, surely. It still felt like angels crying after closing time.

“I’ve outed myself, too,” Gabriel said, half joking, half serious. What had he been thinking? He was very bitter about it.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighed, his face full of worry.

“I’ll most certainly lose my job,” Gabriel said calmly. He had arranged himself with that future over the last day. He had drunken a lot.

“Oh, dear, no,” Aziraphale sighed and shifted closer. “Gabriel, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all human-made, no big deal,” Gabriel smiled, “God doesn’t judge me.” He finally brought himself to look into Aziraphale’s eyes, and they shone with sorrow. Beautiful and soft.

“It’s not your fault, honeybun,” he said, and Aziraphale looked down again. “Don’t call me that,” he begged, and Gabriel apologized. “Haven’t you been seeing anyone?” he asked, and his voice was full of worry. Gabriel shook his head. “Whenever I met someone,” he remembered, “they didn’t seem worth the risk.”

“I see,” he murmured. They sat a while in silence, until Aziraphale said, “I’ll call that creepy journalist in the afternoon. Maybe she wants an interview or something.”

“’kay.”

Rain still going. Not strong, but soft and sad. Powerless. Gabriel shifted. “Write me all the details, all your wishes for the wedding. And then, y’know… Let’s antedate, hm? I won’t be defrocked until the end of the month. We still got time.”

Aziraphale looked up again. “What?”

“I’ll just do it. The deacons are fine with it. Organist’s fine with it. I even got a priest to do the ceremony. They’re all very motivated. Just tell your guests to come two months earlier. We’ll have your wedding in April.” Gabriel smiled sadly. “I would’ve fought more for you, I really would. But I’m afraid my journey comes to an end rather soon. It’s the last thing I can offer,” he said.

“They won’t allow that,” Aziraphale feared, not convinced.

“Who cares? I’m getting thrown out anyway. Might as go out with a bang.” Gabriel laughed. “I’ll write a letter to the bishop to explain myself. Just to be polite. And I’ll take care of the flowers, too.”

“No, err,” Aziraphale said nervously, “Anthony will. He’s a florist, he wanted to do it himself.”

“Oh, wow. That would explain all the plants in here,” Gabriel said and looked around. “They’re gorgeous. I have to ask him about those sometime soon.”

“Well, we’ll see you at the registrar's office next week, won’t we?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Gabriel felt his face distort. That would be tasteless. “Really? After… y’know.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Things are different now, Gabriel. I want you to be around. And we’ll have the wedding early, if you really don’t mind.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Thank you,” he said quietly and looked at his feet. “I’ve never said it, but, Aziraphale,” he uttered, “I am very, very happy for you. You’re comfortable around him, and Anthony’s a good guy, he really is.” He sucked in a breath. “I want you two to be happy. And I wish you all the best.” Finally he looked at Aziraphale again. And his angel smiled ever so softly.

“Thank you,” he answered.

There was a pause as they listened to the rain. Gabriel wanted to ask about the Ritz, if it had been nice, but he didn’t. “May I ask how you two met?” he said instead and casually stood up, ready to leave. Aziraphale accompanied him. “Oh, Anthony and I? We’ve known each other for a long time now, actually. We’ve been friends during the time I’ve been seeing you, too.”

Gabriel sighed. “Aziraphale, I am so sorry. From the bottom of my heart.” He swallowed and tried a smile as he said, “I was a terrible boyfriend, wasn’t I. Oh, sorry, you don’t like that word.”

Aziraphale declined and shook his head. “It’s not against the word, I just thought it might have been unfitting for… your profession,” he said. “Well, it’s all the same now.”

Gabriel kept his eyes on him. “Maybe it was unfitting for them. But not for me,” he said, uncompromising. And Aziraphale gave him a smile. He said, “Thank you, Gabriel, for going through all of this. You could’ve easily stepped aside and condemned us, publicly, like everyone else.”

“Goes without saying, really. I couldn’t look in the mirror if I didn’t stand up for you,” Gabriel said truthfully.

Suddenly, Aziraphale hummed and hawed, fumbling with his fingers. “Can I, err, ask you for something?”

Gabriel focused immediately. “Yes, of course,” he said, softer than he meant to. And Aziraphale looked down as he asked, “Would you do the ceremony?” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but Aziraphale got a grip on himself, saying, “Please. I know it’s a bit much, but if you don’t mind…”

“Yeah, no, really, it is a bit too much. Not for me, but-”

“I don’t mind. Anthony doesn’t mind either.”

Gabriel flapped his arms in irritation. “I treated you like shit!” he uttered a bit too loud.

“But you’re sorry now,” Aziraphale said. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”

Gabriel almost melted. He would be damned. And he said, “Fine. I’ll… I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale laughed briefly and hesitated for a moment, but then he looked at Gabriel again, taking his hand. He squeezed it gently, the first real touch they shared after their break-up. Warm and comforting. Making up. They said goodbye shortly after, and as Gabriel left the bookshop, the sunshine washed down on him like a shower.

* * *

“He’s very sorry.”

“He should be! After all the things he’d done to you,” Anthony called from behind the curtain. “I’m not saying I’m not happy he’s coming, it’s just good that he realised how much of a dick he was to you. And that he finally apologised.”

Aziraphale frowned and fumbled with his hands. “We’re too hard on him, I feel.” He heard his fiancé groan from inside the changing booth. “We’re not too hard. Au contraire, you’re too good for this world, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale sighed. “He is going to do the ceremony. He helped us with everything. And now he’s losing his job because of us.”

“Maybe he’s better off without that priest robe,” Anthony mused, and Aziraphale knew he was right. Of course he was right. Being a catholic priest and in love with the same sex didn’t really go that well together, it was hurtful. Was Gabriel doomed from the beginning? “You know, he said he had considered giving up priesthood before,” Aziraphale said.

“There you go, so don’t blame yourself,” Anthony said.

Just as Aziraphale was about to reply to that, the curtain was pulled aside to reveal Anthony in a pitch-black suit. “You went with the tie,” Aziraphale beamed and stood up. He cupped his fiancé’s cheek ere Anthony could put on his sunglasses again.

“How do I look?” he asked plainly.

“Devilishly handsome,” Aziraphale went with a giggle. He let his eyes roam – those trousers were really tight.

“Yeah, appreciate that,” Anthony said. He shifted, all tense. “No, really, how do I look?”

Aziraphale’s face softened, and now he got lost in those amber eyes. “Like the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with,” he whispered. He pecked his lips, and Anthony slung both of his arms around him, making him gasp in surprise. “I love you,” he whispered. “And whatever happens after or during the wedding, we’ll go through it together, you hear me?”

“We’ve got some people on our side, you know,” Aziraphale reminded him, trying to distract himself from his own nervousness, but Anthony stayed dead still. Nose in Aziraphale’s hair, he whispered, “We’re on our own side, angel.”

“You’re always so dramatic.”

“I’m saying the truth!” Anthony pulled away. “We’ve already given six interviews to six different papers.”

“And every single journalist was supportive of us,” Aziraphale reminded him in a calm tone.

“Yeah, they were supportive because they wanted our story, and church is something entirely different,” Anthony huffed in response. Aziraphale was about to scold him. “Listen up, silly, it doesn’t matter why people support us,” he began.

“Yeah, I know,” Anthony sighed, “the road to Hell is paved with door-to-door salesmen. Now try on that bloody tartan suit, because I want to see you in it.”

“Why, you’re all hasty now,” Aziraphale teased deadpan, pulling him closer.

“I’ll be hasty once I get the chance to tear that thing off you,” Anthony hissed, blushing, and Aziraphale snickered as he drew the curtain. But maybe Anthony had a point. Maybe they could go really through with the wedding, against all odds. A moment of their own, for real.

But who was he kidding – even if it worked, it would definitely get annulled afterwards. The papers would be right in the end.

* * *

God did not play games, Gabriel had realized. If he was honest with himself, he never actually saw Her that way. But whenever he had walked past his ex, when he missed the right exit ramp, when he stumbled while jogging – he felt laughed at. And not laughed at by fellow humans, but by a higher entity that had chosen him specifically to be their jester.

But it wasn’t about him, he had realized. Of course it wasn’t.

It was about his mission as a priest. It was about breaking the bread, about listening to the terrible things people confessed to him because they had no one else to talk to and feared for the wellbeing of their immortal souls. It was about making sure that love always came first, even if that only meant deleting hateful comments on the parish’s Facebook page. He would gladly do all of that, just out of love for God. Make Heaven a place on Earth, as they say.

She was cool. And She was cool with him, too. All Gabriel had to do now was to be cool with himself, too.

But that was difficult when he saw less and less people in his masses. Some of the parishioners didn’t even want to shake his hand anymore. They avoided his eyes because he wanted to marry off a gay couple.

It was difficult.

It was difficult to see how they turned their backs on him and how there was nothing he could do about it. He knew it was for the better, because he did not need homophobes in his life. It was healthier for him personally, he told himself that before every mass (and his therapist had told him, too). But some of these people have been going to this church all their lives and now felt they needed to find a new parish. Old people. People he genuinely cared about.

It was difficult. One day a retiree came to his confession and told him about how he had lived a life of lies. He had been married to a woman for fifty-nine years. She was dead now, and his life would be over soon, too. He thanked Gabriel for being brave. But he cried throughout, and Gabriel could hardly take it. Was it good or bad? Was it worth all that?

Later that evening he walked past the statue of Mary and her lilies. She does like them, he thought. Her stone eyes were unreadable.

* * *

Anthony and Aziraphale arrived at the registrar's office with their Bentley. In neat suits (black and tartan, respectively). And Anthony wore sunglasses, naturally. Gabriel sighed and accompanied the guests inside. Among them were Pepper – she was a friend of Anthony, as it turned out (made things even stranger, as he thought about it) – and other old friends.

“Crowley is so good with children. Took care of our son when we couldn’t,” a man named Arthur Young explained to Gabriel. He had come all the way from Oxfordshire, the longest way of any of the guests, Brother Francis included. Small circle, that was nice. Young had brought his wife and son, who Aziraphale and Anthony knew from before. “Pater, but I have to say,” he began in a conspiratorial voice, “I do appreciate what you’re doing. Really.”

Gabriel gave him a mixed look. By now, he was tired of people saying that.

“With the wedding, I mean,” Young said and cleared his throat. “I think it’s good. About time. A few years ago, they would not even been able to marry in here. Crazy if you think about it!”

“You're right. Thank you, sir.”

“But to be honest with you, pater,” he said with furrowed brows, “I doubt you will be able to go through with it.”

“We’ll take care of that,” his golden-haired son chimed in, and ere Gabriel could reply, the grooms stepped closer. “Sorry, Roger Taylor said he couldn’t come,” Anthony said as he and Aziraphale passed them by, arm in arm and all giggly. “C’mon, folks. Let’s go inside.”

The wedding was dry and somewhat comical: Gabriel knew the registrar, a young woman named Anathema Device. Worked as a part-time witch. “My first meeting with the two hadn’t been all too charming,” she said at one point in her speech, “because they hit me with their car in the middle of the night.”

There was uncomfortable laughter at that, but Aziraphale and Anthony smiled and chuckled as if there was a hidden joke that only they knew.

They signed, they kissed – _fucking soft_ – and Gabriel was the first one to jump up and applaud. If the church wedding would be blown off, he had to remember _this_ as their wedding, and he wanted to make the best of it. Never had he seen Aziraphale so happy. Even Anthony was blushing. “Alcohol for everyone,” he announced with a giggly smile.

“There will be a protest outside the church,” Pepper informed Gabriel. He emptied another glass of orange-juice champagne in one go. He hummed. He still hadn’t heard from the bishopric. “People love what you’re doing, pater,” she told him.

“Very kind of them,” Gabriel smiled, “seeing as there’re enough who hate me, too.”

“We’ll keep those under control,” Pepper promised him, and her face was so sinister when she said it that Gabriel was actually scared of her.

At that moment, Anthony and Aziraphale stepped closer to them, still beaming. There were inseparable. Gabriel swallowed. “So, husbands, huh?” he said with a smile. They even let him hug them. Casually, he mentioned, “She did not use your full name, I think that’s against the law. Anthony J. Crowley? What’s the J stand for?”

“Hmm, just a J, really,” Anthony uttered, and Aziraphale first wiggled nervously, but then laughed out loud. Gabriel smiled. Aziraphale was so happy that he… was happy as well. Wow.

Just then, other guests greeted Gabriel. Everyone told him about how great they found him marrying off the couple in church. They meant well, and they encouraged him, even Young nodded strongly in agreement. Anathema did, too. She was filthy rich and offered to sponsor potential security forces around the church on the day of the wedding.

“Not to sound snoopy,” Gabriel said to her afterwards, “but do you want to get married, too? What about that Newt fellow, is he still around?”

“Someday I’ll marry him,” she said and drank from her bottle of champagne, “that old lesbian.”

Gabriel didn’t reply to that.

As he looked around, he saw that Anthony and Aziraphale were now standing by the window at the lobby’s other end, alone. They chatted with each other and giggled happily. Gabriel sniffed. He excused himself and walked up to them. As he came closer he heard they were talking about last night’s edition of Would I Lie To You?, and finally that was a conversation he wanted to be a part of. He could do a half-decent Rob Brydon impression after all. His best party trick. (His only party trick.)

“Hello again,” he greeted.

“Oh, hi,” said Anthony, and added, “Dude, your glass is empty.”

“It is,” Gabriel grinned. He almost would’ve thrown it over his shoulder, but luckily he noticed the little table beside him in time. He couldn’t stop grinning as he looked at these two lovebirds.

“We were just talking about Would I Lie To You?, do you watch that?” Anthony asked. “’s a panel show on BBC One.”

“I do watch that, actually,” Gabriel said with the smuggest smile he could muster. Aziraphale turned slightly away (probably because he knew what was about to come). “Good evening! And welcome to Would I Lie To You!” Gabriel exclaimed a wee bit too loud. Anthony blinked behind his shades. “Yeah, that’s what the show is called,” he said deadpan.

Gabriel forcefully kept his smile in hope he would still recognize it. But Anthony turned away to drink more champagne.

“Come on,” Gabriel said with disappointment, “it’s Rob Brydon.”

“Rob Brydon?” Anthony asked. Aziraphale giggled as his husband shook his head with raised eyebrows. “You Americans should really stop trying to do British accents,” he sighed.

“It isn’t half bad,” Gabriel defended himself, looking at Aziraphale for support, who just kept on smiling politely and wiggled a bit. Apparently he wanted to keep himself out of this fight, even though it obviously meant great restraint for him. Okay. Gabriel huffed. “Thank you for watching, and we’ll see you next time! Good night!”

“Will you please stop doing that?” Anthony begged as he still poured himself more champagne.

“Why? It’s a fucking solid Welsh accent. Granted, I messed it up a bit just now-”

“It’s not even a proper British accent,” Anthony said, shaking his head is frustration. “Doesn’t even come close to it.”

“Everyone likes it!”

“I don’t like.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it physically hurts my ears,” Anthony said with finality and had a gulp. Gabriel gave up. But he recovered quickly. “Okay,” he said, “then who’s this? Thank you, Clarice…”

“You’re just saying his dialogue!” Anthony complained.

Gabriel clapped his hands. “So you know who it is!”

“Yeah, because you literally quoted his dialogue, not because you sound like him.”

And Gabriel sighed. Aziraphale still smiled, no longer avoiding his gaze. “You always liked my Anthony Hopkins better than my Rob Brydon,” Gabriel remembered. Anthony gave his husband a punitive glare, and asked in an innocent and irritated tone, “Is that all you can do? Hopkins and Brydon? What is it, pater, do you have a thing for… short Welsh men from Port Talbot?”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale and took a hasty nip of his glass.

Gabriel frowned. “Is Anthony Hopkins short?” he wondered.

“Hm,” said Anthony.

There was a pause as the three men thought about how tall Anthony Hopkins actually was. How did he look again?

“Oh, by the way, Anthony, have you ever seen Aziraphale’s magic tricks?”

Anthony’s face went through all five stages of grief within a millisecond. “Why would you ask that now?” he uttered as Aziraphale already placed his glass on the table to pull out a coin from his pocket. “Always prepared,” he smiled, and let it disappear in his hands, making that exact same sound he always did when he performed this trick. Gabriel beamed. “It’s gone!” he exclaimed, and Anthony seemed to have lost his will to live.

Aziraphale smiled mysteriously and waved his hand closer to Gabriel, whose mouth wouldn’t close. He applauded. This never got old.

“Behind your ear,” Aziraphale giggled in excitement.

“In your hand,” Anthony’s muffled voice groaned. He leaned against the table with his head on top of it.

“Fucking amazing,” Gabriel praised.

“As amazing as it gets!”

“It’s not amazing-”

“You should do that more often.”

“You _should_ _not_!”

“I rather think I should.”

“Please, no…” Anthony whined, making both Gabriel and Aziraphale laugh. How did he make it disappear like that? Awesome! “Do you have the cloth here, too?” Gabriel asked behind his hand. “Sadly, no,” Aziraphale said in a regretting tone and put the coin into his pocket again.

“Anyway,” Gabriel said and clapped his hands, “enough of all of that-”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Can’t blame Her! Before I leave I wanted to ask who of you two had proposed,” Gabriel smiled and leaned in more. “If you wanna talk about that.” He was genuinely interested, and he hoped that his smile could transport that. Anthony hummed and hawed, and Aziraphale finally said, content with himself, “I would say it was me.”

“Wt wsn’t.”

“Hm?”

“It wasn’t… entirely you. Not explicitly,” Anthony clarified. Gabriel watched them as Anthony emptied another glass. How irritating. But cute. “Why do you wear shades at your wedding?” Gabriel blurted out, and Aziraphale almost choked on laughing. “Because he likes it,” he answered on his husband’s behalf, patting his back and smiling graciously. It warmed Gabriel’s heart.

They chatted a little longer (about houseplants and stuff) ere Gabriel made a move. They hugged, smiled, and wished each other the best.

* * *

_Anthony peels an orange and wipes sweat off his forehead with his shirt. Dear God, it’s way too hot for this time of the year. Behind him, Aziraphale sits on the veranda’s rocking chair and reads. He has stopped humming a few minutes ago. Now only birds were chirping._

_Anthony peels another orange. The white comes off._

_“Say,” Aziraphale muses, “would you like to get married?”_

_“In general? Yeah, that’d be nice,” Anthony says. “Settling down. Domesticity and stuff.”_

_“And a marriage party,” Aziraphale adds thoughtfully._

_“Yeah, a party,” Anthony says. He’s sweating too damn much. He should get rid of the apron._

_And then Aziraphale says, “Good. Very well.” and goes back to humming and rocking in his chair. Anthony looks up, shaking his hands in a lazy attempt to clean them from the fruits’ oil, and exhales. Oranges are such a pain to peel, bloody hell. At least Aziraphale’s having fun._

_Anthony bows down again to continue, but as his gaze focuses longer and longer on his hands, on his ring finger in particular, they get oiler and oiler. And he gets hotter and hotter. And finally, realisation overthrew every proper thought he could’ve had, and with a snap, he turns around._

_“Hang on, what the fuck do you-”_

* * *

When he went home that day, Gabriel was stopped by someone calling his name right as he was about to unlock his front door.

“Ah!”

“Oh, did I scare you, pater?”

Gabriel knew that voice. He turned around to find Dean Sandalphon standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing the single most hideous suit Gabriel had ever laid his eyes upon, and he smiled thinly.

“Good evening to you too,” Gabriel said. “Can I do anything for you? Or would you kindly get lost?”

“Oh, I just wanted to bring you a letter. Too important to not deliver it personally,” Sandalphon said, still smiling. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “I’m here to remind you, pater, that that homosexual union won’t be forged in our church. It won’t happen. I thought I should remind you of that, because you do not seem to be wanting to stop your efforts.”

“I’m not stopping, indeed,” Gabriel said, irritated and tired.

“You’re distancing yourself further and further from God,” Sandalphon said and put his other hand in his ugly coat’s pocket. What color was that? Dark orange? Mustard? Gabriel blinked. “Is this a threat?” he asked.

“No,” Sandalphon grinned. “Think of it as a friendly reminder instead.”

“Very friendly.”

“We know that you have been keeping in touch with the press. And that black women’s libber from the internet. And her sheep followers.”

“So?” Gabriel was very much fed up with this conversation. The envelope lingered dangerously calm in Sandalphon’s hand. Should he just take it? The key was still in the lock, all he had to do was turn it around and enter his house.

“I didn’t think you’d lower yourself to that annoying level.”

“You know what I find annoying? The color of that thing you’re wearing,” Gabriel snapped, and the dean’s face hardened. “I wonder if we would be so lucky to have you stopping your efforts after your deposition.” His eyes sparkled. “I’m also thinking about excommunication, that goes without saying.”

“Great,” Gabriel said and finally let go of the key in his hand, just to step closer to that douche and snatch the envelope from his disgusting fingers. “Then I’ll be on the same list as all the women who had abortions or emergency contraception. Fine with me,” he huffed.

“We do our best,” Sandalphon said, “but only God can truly judge them. Doesn’t hurt if we help a little bit though, don’t you think? This is our mission. The Lord endorses excommunication of those unworthy of his love.”

“I think,” Gabriel growled, careful not to raise his voice, “that you should start excommunicating the child rapists that are going their merry ways, how about that for a start, hm? The Lord would endorse that, I feel.”

“Do you? Funny, seeing how you’re a sodomite yourself,” Sandalphon said with raised eyebrows, and Gabriel faltered. “Curious how things connect… But you can be healed, pater. Conversion therapy is thriving. Think about it.”

Gabriel swallowed and felt the paper crinkle between his fingers. He chest hurt. “You are,” he gasped out, “the absolute fucking worst.”

“The worst goes to Hell, Gabriel,” Sandalphon said. “And that won’t be me.”

Gabriel exhaled, turned on his heels and rushed into his house. Originally he wanted to clap the door shut with energy, but his head was too confused and his hands too shaky, so he kind of just closed it and slit down the wall behind him, envelope sinking to the ground. From the bishopric. They forbad the marriage, naturally. Signed by Bishop Michaela. Gabriel rubbed his face. He had to get away from this somehow. But he couldn’t. He’s a lean, mean fighting-machine, and he won’t run. Not until Aziraphale and Anthony left the church with their wedding rings and an entry in the church register.

* * *

“I suppose you don’t want me to write about your homosexuality?” Newton asked with such caution that Gabriel wanted to scream. This lad was as slow as ever. And this conversation has been going on for far too long. Gabriel’s attention span was too effing short for that. Not even conversations in pastoral counselling take this long. In-depth interview, huh? At least it was only Newt, not some slimy agent from the Times. (Oh, shit – that one said he wanted to call this evening.)

“No. I gotta go,” Gabriel said simply and got up. But then he paused, saying, “Well, maybe – write about that. But then you should wait until my excommunication. Might wanna publish it afterwards.”

“If you want me to, I can split it in two,” Newt said, adjusting his glasses. Then he looked down at his notes (he didn’t use a computer, or even a phone to record the interview). “When will this excommunication take place?” he asked.

“Wednesday, actually. Next week. They’re so fucking slow, they’re taking forever, as always. Good for us, I guess.”

“I see,” Newt said. He looked like he wanted to write something down, but he just froze. Gabriel frowned. “Are you alright?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Yes. Thank you,” Newt said. He then adjusted his glasses yet again. “Just out of general interest, pater – and maybe also for the paper – do you have anything to say about … religion and lobby work? Or abuse scandals? Like, how the church is unwilling to consequently-”

“You know what, I do,” Gabriel said and sat down again.

These next days were all about wedding preparations. At least there wasn’t time for personal break-downs in-between interviews and all the organizing that was due. Gabriel prayed for the schedule to work out. He went through the procedure with his deacons and instructed the organist. Anthony’s music taste was… special. But they wanted Mendelssohn’s Wedding March for the entry. That was a classic. Gabriel had taken care of the baptismal certificates before, but now he had to visit the two a last time for the marriage talk and the wedding preparation report.

“You know that you don’t actually need this to get married,” Gabriel reminded them when they had sat down with hot cups of cocoa.

“We want it all official,” Aziraphale said and started filling in. “You’re not confirmed,” he said to Anthony, who shook his head in absent acknowledgment. “No problem,” Gabriel said, “as long as you’re christened, we’ll be fine.” And so, they went through it, bit by bit. It was distractingly mechanical.

“Who will be the witnesses?” Gabriel asked.

“Same as last week,” Anthony said and adjusted his shades. “Mrs Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.” He spoke all tensely, and Gabriel’s face softened. “Alright then. Being excited is very normal, Anthony, just remember to calm down again,” he said.

“I am calm,” Anthony lied and shifted. “It’s just… the big day, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled and took his hand to comfort him.

Gabriel felt himself smile as well. He couldn’t help it. “Y’know, usually I’d now tell the lovely couple that they have to remember to always stay together, to support one another and never leave, even after they’ve had a bad fight or something. And they would nod and sign and I’d be on my way getting a sandwich from somewhere down the street. But with you two…” He looked down. “You already know. I don’t need to tell you.”

“I’m getting emotional, stop it,” Anthony begged with a cracking voice, and Gabriel gently punched him. “Wait ‘til tomorrow. You will be bawling,” he warned him.

“Don’t tease him,” Aziraphale begged tenderly. There was a pause. “I’m happy for you,” Gabriel said somewhen. “And you’ve chosen a great wedding motto from the Bible, too.”

“I’m afraid a lot of couples choose something from the first letter to the Corinthians. Nothing special,” Aziraphale sighed, but Gabriel smiled at them encouragingly, saying, “Who cares? It’s for you. That makes it special. It’s wonderful.”

He gave them a blessing. But when he walked home that night, Gabriel felt strange. He was anxious to go through the day’s mail. There were angry letters from old people, invitations to interviews and some ads. Nothing more from the bishopric.

He would get his friends married off, even if it was the last thing he’d do. Well, it definitely was the last thing, pretty much. Make Heaven a place on Earth.

He couldn’t eat anything that night. He just prayed and went to bed.

* * *

“There is news in the case of Pater Gabriel from London, who intends to churchly marry off the first same-sex couple ever in his parish in Westminster. As of now, the Catholic wedding will indeed take place. We reported last week that the priest will get defrocked soon, but the wedding date has been preponed to make sure it will take place before the deposition. Only yesterday, the Pope has spoken out against the, quote, ‘unnatural and blasphemous union of two men’. The Vatican is in great turmoil in the face of this marriage. There have been worldwide protests and pride marches celebrating the beauty of queer relationships that have been met with approval by several governments around the world. Earlier this morning, when asked about the impact of his undertaking and how he felt about the great opposition he has to face, Pater Gabriel replied that they should, quote, ‘get fucked’. We will keep you informed.”

* * *

“You said there would be two hundred,” Gabriel crunched.

“Well, some more came,” Pepper said deadpan. They looked at the mess that was going on in front of the church in Westminster: demonstrators calling and holding up signs with quotes from the Bible (pretty damn unreflectively so, Gabriel thought), counterdemonstrators which rainbow flags and loud music, countless journalists and camera teams, and even Sandalphon was there, accompanied by other disapproving priests and Bishop Michaela, looking as disapproving as a human could possibly look. “It’s really fucking noisy out here,” Gabriel growled. He’s had enough. Aziraphale and Anthony would soon be here, he had to go inside. He would not bother with these idiots any longer. The grooms needed to arrive safely.

“You,” he called over the noise and pointed an assertive finger towards Sandalphon, “will not step any closer, alright?”

“I’m surprised you made it this far, pater,” Sandalphon spat back. And the Bishop gave him a disapproving look, disapprovingly.

“Faggot!” someone from the crowd called, and Pepper glared at the group, so that they stepped back, behind the church’s gateway. “And stay there,” she snarled. Even the security guys Anathema had organized looked scared. Gabriel made a mental note to never have her as his enemy.

“And you,” he said to the journalists with the same finger, “no filming inside, you understand? You stay outside.”

“Very well,” one reporter answered, “but, pater, do you have time for a quick question?”

“No, I don’t. And you,” he called towards the rainbow group, “turn down that music! We want to listen to Schubert!” All tensed up, he turned to Pepper. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Adam, the others and me will keep them out.”

“Good. Thanks, buddy.” He gave her a brief wink and went inside. The noise wasn’t as bad in here. And the flowers were nice. All white. Anthony had good taste after all. And once the doors would be closed, they would be amongst themselves. In silence. Except for Adam and the others, everyone was seated and waiting for the couple to arrive. Five minutes to go. “Almighty,” Gabriel prayed under his breath, “grant us success.”

Now there were police sirens. Great. “Grant us success,” Gabriel said louder, but not without disappointment. I don’t care about myself, he added, but this is his big day. _Their_ big day. Make it a good one, will you?

He placed himself in front of the altar, and just then Aziraphale’s blond head popped up in the doorframe, looking straight at him. His eyes were widened in horror, and normally Gabriel would’ve looked equally horrified, but Aziraphale was just too damn gorgeous in his stupid white tartan suit. So, Gabriel just gave him an awkward thumbs-up and pointed the organist to play. And Aziraphale and Anthony stumbled in. (Mrs. Ashtoreth was old, but a woman of action, and closed the door behind them with great vigor.) And as Mendelssohn’s March played and everyone stood and admired the couple and looked into these two happy faces, lit by the colors of the stained-glass windows, Gabriel felt himself relax.

Thank you, he prayed. But why in Your name is he still wearing shades?

The two lovebirds sat down on the little bench, and clearly Aziraphale was a whole lot calmer than his husband. He smelled. Anthony must’ve drunken beforehand. Gabriel could not see his eyes, but his whole body screamed his nervousness in everyone’s face. Poor guy. But with every minute that passed, he calmed down.

After a prayer, Gabriel greeted everyone. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the greatest gift of all,” he said and couldn’t help but smile at the couple. Aziraphale radiated so much bliss, so much joy and thankfulness – it was intoxicating. And the divine service was so wonderful. God was with them. Forgotten were the protests and the bishopric and the hate. Sooner than Gabriel would’ve thought, Schubert’s quartet played, and then it was time for the espousal.

Gabriel straightened up. He still couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. Man, this would be really fucking good. “Anthony and Aziraphale, have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?” he asked in his absolute best priest voice. “And are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”

Aziraphale wiggled. “I am.” Anthony’s answer followed a few seconds later.

“Since it is your intention to enter into the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.”

Aziraphale had said his vow picture-book perfectly, but Anthony was having a bad time, apparently. Aziraphale encouraged him lovingly, and it was so cute that Gabriel was about to cry. “I take you to be my… my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward,” Anthony uttered, “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in… in sickness and in health, to love” – he wept – “and to cherish, until death us do part, according to God’s holy law.” He only had eyes for Aziraphale. “In the presence of God, I make this vow.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath and was afraid he spoke his next words a bit too happily, but who the fuck cared anymore. “I pronounce you husbands in front of God. And what God joins together, let no one put asunder.”

They exchanged wedding rings (Anthony shivered badly, and by now, tears were flowing down his face and his shades were somewhere on the bench behind him), and Gabriel thought how he had never felt so blissful in his entire life. Had been fucking worth it, huh.

“You may now kiss,” he said, and added in his mind, you beautiful fuckers.

And boy, did they kiss. Aziraphale cupped Anthony’s face with both hands, and his husband embraced him tightly, and they kissed, dearly, heartfelt. The guests applauded. Of course Gabriel had caught himself thinking what it would be like to stand there with Aziraphale now. But he did not think ‘instead of Anthony’. No, they belonged. His eyes roamed the church’s ceiling. Was this the power of love?

Hallelujah.

But, of course, they would never get a fucking break.

Right after Gabriel had said his amen, the church’s doors were opened, and Sandalphon and his entourage stepped in. Pepper and the others were walking beside them. “They want the church register,” she called.

“This marriage,” Sandalphon shouted with unease, “is invalid and will be annulled by the Ecclesiastical court!” Bishop Michaela was beside him, folding her hands. The shrieking words echoed in the church’s halls as everyone fell quiet.

“Err, will it though?” Gabriel asked into the silence and flapped his arms.

“This is a travesty,” Sandalphon called from across the nave, and Gabriel’s eyes rushed to Aziraphale and Anthony, who clung to each other in a close embrace, eyes on the church’s door. A fear-hug. The guests murmured in anger, and then Mr. Young stood up. “How can this be travesty?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. More and more people joined the protest. Now they were screaming at each other. The security guys rushed in. And Anthony sat down, shuddering.

With a heavenwards sigh, Gabriel screwed up his courage and loudly proclaimed, without moving, “You will not get the church register, and you will not annul this marriage, which has been confirmed by God-” Everyone was silent and looked at him. Oh, splendid.

Gabriel straightened up and continued, “I know for a fact, Dean and Bishop, that God does not oppose this union. But you should ask yourself if it is justified to storm into a house of God, trying to ruin these men’s wedding day while making fools of yourselves.” His eyes were firmly on Sandalphon, that fucking asshole. Gabriel felt drugged. He got high on his speech and on the guests cheering him on.

“This will have consequences, Gabriel,” Michaela said.

“Oh, undoubtably,” he answered, shrugging. “But that’s for later. What counts is now. And that is love.” He laughed. “Pretty damn bad for you, because love kinda always wins.” He blinked. “Love always wins. Love is great. And this is a house of love. If you want to partake in this, you are free to stay with us.” He opened his arms.

Sandalphon shifted uncomfortably. He adjusted his clothes, swallowed, and said, “There is no way I’m staying here.”

“Fine,” Gabriel exclaimed and sucked in a breath. “In that case – get out of my church,” he said, smiling sweetly, but glaring nonetheless.

Sandalphon huffed. And left. And the others left, too, but no one applauded or anything like that. Michaela gave Gabriel a smile – a smile? – and looked around, nodding to the grooms. Then she left as well. Mrs. Ashtoreth cheered loudly and ran after her to close the doors, and some of the guests chuckled in relief. Gabriel even saw Pepper doing a victory pose. He exhaled and tumbled backwards, but he still saw Aziraphale rushing to his side.

“Are you all right?” He worried.

Gabriel nodded, and it caused Aziraphale to smile down on him. “You did” – he briefly hesitated – “really fucking good, Gabriel.”

He laughed. Finally, he could lay eyes upon that smile again. But what he said was: “Please, no cursing. This is a house of God.”

Aziraphale joined his laughing, and then Anthony helped him get up, too. Gabriel looked back and forth between them while adjusting his stole, and he smiled. “You two are husbands! Phenomenal. Can I get a hallelujah?” The two intertwined their hands and giggled stupidly. So cute. “Let’s bring this home, guys, hm? There’s still one Schubert left,” Gabriel said and patted them on the back. But he blacked out.

* * *

“Well, wasn’t that a ride,” Aziraphale said. They were outside the church and had just finished their wedding photos. The guests had already gone, only the three of them were left. Gabriel had a bottle of water in his hand, his third one, and emptied it. Water to wine, or so. And he felt the sun on his face. It was a sunny day.

“That dean will still cause us trouble, I’m afraid,” said Anthony as he plucked some rainbow confetti from Gabriel’s robe. “Naah, he won’t,” Gabriel went and sniffed. “I’ll take care of him. Write an ill-mannered, but well-meaning letter. Or so.”

Anthony smiled approvingly and adjusted his shades. “Thank you for today. For everything, in fact.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gabriel said, finding that he did not mind the sunglasses anymore.

“Well, we’ll shoot some more photos up in St. James’s Park. Will we see you this evening? At the party?” Aziraphale asked hopefully.

“I’ll join you later on,” Gabriel said. “I need to help cleaning up here first and get a few things straight. The demonstrators made a mess on the street. And the flowers must go, too. I’ll bring them this evening.” He sighed. “Shame to miss the first dance though.”

Anthony laughed. “Yeah. But understandable, it’s all right.”

“By the way,” Gabriel remembered, “I’ve always wanted to ask you where you will be spending your honeymoon.”

The two smiled at each other knowingly. “Not just our honeymoon,” Aziraphale snickered, looking at his husband to make him proclaim the news. “We bought a cottage in the South,” Anthony said, not without pride. “South Downs. Right by the ocean. Pretty idyllic.”

“Oh, nice one. Sounds good,” Gabriel smiled.

“Yeah. The Bentley would only drive so far,” Anthony hissed. “Otherwise we would’ve left for Alpha Centauri.”

“Oh, stop it,” Aziraphale laughed, “poor Gabriel doesn’t know what to make of that, dearest.”

Gabriel smiled uncomfortably. “I really don’t. Not my business anyway.” His face softened again. “Enjoy your time there. Pepper’s interviews can wait.”

“They bloody can,” Anthony said and slung an arm around his husband. “So, we’ll see you this evening?”

“Sure.”

“Great, I’m looking forward to seeing you there,” Aziraphale smiled. “No dress-code.”

“Yeah, but no preaching gown, or else people might mistake you for the late-night stripper,” Anthony recommended helpfully. “Oh, and impressions are forbidden. As are magic tricks,” he added, mildly panicking.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Gabriel warned with a smile. “Take care.”

“We will,” said Aziraphale.

The couple said goodbye and walked away, holding hands. “May God bless you,” Gabriel said, sure that they wouldn’t hear him. And as the Bentley drove away with its flowers and metal cans, he turned and entered the church. He picked up some confetti from outside and watched the sunrays light up the stained-glass windows. Strangely calm, he stopped in front of the statue of Mary. “Thank you, too,” he said with charming nonchalance, but naturally, she was unimpressed with him. But she smiled, nonetheless. Graciously.

* * *

Everyone stood up. Gabriel shifted as Bishop Michaela summarized his offenses against the Holy Church and all the other shit that had been going down. At least he wore his favorite suit, the grey one with the violet tie. It made him comfortable as he stood in-between all these people that hated him. The bishop’s icy voice cut the air like a sword.

“And thus,” she concluded, “I exclude you, Pater Gabriel, from the holy sacraments and the Catholic Church, and defrock you. You are no longer the Westminster Sancta Maria parish’s superintendent, and you are no longer a priest in God’s service.”

She looked up from the paper she read aloud to give everyone in the room a cold glare. Photographers’ lights flashed. Gabriel shifted. It is done.

“You may sit down now,” she said, “as there is another thing I need to herald.” As the chairs squeaked on the ground, the bishop held up a big envelope. “This letter has arrived in my office today. It is from the Vatican,” she said. A murmur went through the dark room, and people started whispering. Gabriel looked up. Everyone was silenced with another glare from the bishop. “Seeing that it just arrived this morning, I did not have any time to discuss it with the council. But I will read it now,” she said, and added under her breath, “Not that there’s anything to discuss here.” Gabriel faltered.

“It says here that His Holiness the Pope apologises for the turmoil of the last weeks. He greets and thanks everyone that did their part to protect the integrity of the Holy Church,” the bishop read. Sandalphon grinned, content with himself.

“In the face of these recent events, his Holiness will not, however,” she continued, “annul the same-sex marriage that has been forged in Sancta Maria in Westminster, London.”

Gabriel’s mouth opened and his vision blurred as he blinked. The photographers went wild.

“The marriage of Aziraphale and Anthony Crowley will persist in the face of God,” the bishop said and lowered the letter, giving Gabriel a brief smile. He smiled back, in disbelief. “That would be all,” the bishop said and turned to leave. Sandalphon wanted to follow her, his mouth opening and closing again and again, and the photographers followed her, too. Everyone rushed past Gabriel. “Ha,” he made to himself. He turned to leave the room in the other direction, heading to the glass doors. The sun shone.

What was that? He had underestimated Bishop Michaela. And her line delivery. Urgh. But why had the Pope changed his mind? Was it because of all the pride parades? The political pressure? Gabriel didn’t even want to know, he didn’t want to think about it – he just stormed outside.

Outside the bishop’s Catholic Office, the others were waiting for him. “Hey,” Beez said and hugged him. Gabriel grabbed them tighter and lifted them off their feet, swinging around. “Are you all right?” they called in irritation.

“I am,” Gabriel said astonishingly calm. He exhaled a breath and pressed Beez’ head closer to first greet the others over their shoulder and then look into the blue sky. All of a sudden he felt so light. Could you believe it? He was finally free and dissolved in God’s love. As his chest warmed in relief, the white clouds ruptured cheekily. He told everyone what had just happened and suggested getting lost before the reporters could ask any questions. They walked the park to the other side.

“So, it won’t get annulled? That’s great news,” Newt said.

“Amazing news!” Pepper called, and Brian and Wensley nodded in agreement.

“Look, it’s already on Twitter. I told you things would work out fine,” Adam said helpfully. “I don’t care if it’s on Twitter, I gotta tell Anthony and Aziraphale!” Gabriel grinned. Beez huffed. “But aren’t you sad they excommunicated you? That job was your life,” they said.

Gabriel shrugged, throwing his jacket over his shoulder. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You know, there’s always reconciliation.”

“Ehh, don’t know. I’m happy the way it is now. I don’t need the church, there’re other ways to do God’s work. I can still work in counseling and welfare.” Gabriel paused. “God’s work does not need to be done by someone in a stole. It can be anyone,” he concluded.

“You know, no offense – but for once, you don’t sound like you’re bargaining with yourself,” Anathema said with a smile. Gabriel returned it. She was right, kind of. He was so calm, and not even the idea of another thousand interviews could stress him right now. But did he really feel this way? Or was that the gospel in the air? Didn’t really matter, did it? Right now, he had everything he needed, and he felt ten feet tall.

Shortly after, they parted ways. Gabriel turned to walk home, but something was strangely off about the ground beneath his feet. His eyes narrowed. On a bench on the other side of the pond, Aziraphale and Anthony sat and waved. Weren’t they on their honeymoon?

Gabriel blinked, and they were gone. Ha.

I see, he said heavenwards and thanked Her. Good one. Maybe it would last for a little while.

He smiled and walked home, whistling a tune. Having arrived, he made himself T-Ravs and prayed. And then he called Anthony and Aziraphale. Then he called his mom.

_1 Corinthians 13, 1-2 and 13: If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Tell me if you enjoyed this version down in the comments if you like ♡


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